


Beta Collection

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 18,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of ficlets set in the Kid's universe, most about the carapaces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Index

These ficlets come from an assorting of writing Wednesday prompts over on [tumblr](http://conceptofzero.tumblr.com).

Chapter 2 - Snow Day in Can Town (Gen - WV, PM, AR, WQ)  
Chapter 3 - Tea for Two (Gen - WQ, PM)  
Chapter 4 - Served Cold (T - JN, WQ)  
Chapter 5 - Duty (Gen - OC)  
Chapter 6 - Only a Paper Moon (Gen - various OCs)  
Chapter 7 - Clean (Gen - human!PM)  
Chapter 8 - Revenge (T - WV/PM)  
Chapter 9 - Mwah (T - WV/PM/AR)  
Chapter 10 - Paternal (T - WV/PM/AR)  
Chapter 11 - Heir (T - genderswap Jack Noir/Black Queen, TRIGGER WARNING)  
Chapter 12 - You're a Wizard, WK (Gen - WK/WQ)  
Chapter 13 - Blackbird (T - Jadesprite/Davesprite)  
Chapter 14 - Just (T - WQ, Jade)  
Chapter 15 - Ships (T - PM)  
Chapter 16 - Dream a Little Dream (G - Rose)  
Chapter 17 - Happiness (Gen - WV, PM, AR, WK, WQ)  
Chapter 18 - Service of the Law (Gen - WV/PM/AR)  
Chapter 19 - Confidant (Gen - WK, AD)  
Chapter 20 - Bloom (Gen - JN, WK, WQ, AR, WV, PM)  
Chapter 21 - Bleed (T - WV, PM)  
Chapter 22 - Radio Silence (Gen - JN/DD one-sided)  
Chapter 23 - Longing (Gen - WK/WQ)  
Chapter 24 - Ex (T - PM/HB, WK)  
Chapter 25 - Woof (T - BQ, JN, DD)  
Chapter 26 - Give You Away (T - PM/HB)  
Chapter 27 - Harvest (Gen - WV)  
Chapter 28 - Happily Ever After (T - BQ, WQ)  
Chapter 29 - Contingency (T - WQ, PM, AR, WV, WK)  
Chapter 30 - Pomp (Gen - JN)  
Chapter 31 - Finery (T - DD)  
Chapter 32 - Farewell (T - PM/AR)  
Chapter 33 - Cage (T - BQ)  
Chapter 34 - Feelings Jam (Gen - AR, WV)  
Chapter 35 - Queen vs Pawn (Gen - WQ, JN)  
Chapter 36 - Eggs (T - JN/BQ)  
Chapter 37 - Eye for an Eye (Gen - AR)  
Chapter 38 - Best Intentions (Gen - AR/PM)  
Chapter 39 - Alright Guy (Gen - JN, HB)  
Chapter 40 - Necessary Sacrifice (T - WQ)  
Chapter 41 - Ragged (T - DD, JN/PM, TRIGGER WARNING)  
Chapter 42 - Firelight (G - WV/PM/AR)  
Chapter 43 - Windy Thing (G - WV, PM, John)


	2. Snow Day in Can Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> A snow filled day in the city?

Maybe it’s not dignified for the Mayor of Can Town to be standing ankle-deep in snow, holding a snowball in his hands and waiting for a moment to strike, but WV gave up on dignity around the time that PM stuffed snow into the collar of his mayoral coat and he spent a good three minutes squirming around and trying to shake it out.

A snowball hits the tree he’s hiding behind with a wet splat, snow spraying on either side. He hears another snowball hit something, followed closely by a squawk from AR and laughter from PM.

When PM had summoned them down to the steps of Can Town’s town hall, WV had thought she wanted to talk about the sudden arrival of the snow and what to do. AR’s assumptions had been much the same. Neither of them expected to come under attack from their Monarch, who is currently kicking both of their asses.

There’s a blur of movement and WV raises his arm, ready to throw. It’s just AR, crouching behind another tree and pawing the snow on the ground together to make his own snowball. He glances over at WV, making eye contact, and then nods towards where PM is. WV nods. If they go at the same time, they might stand a fighting chance.

With his free hand, he counts down to one. They duck around their trees at the same time, arm’s raised, and fire at the same white figure.

Their snowballs hit WQ’s back, causing her to jolt forward with surprise. They stop dead, WV clasping his hands over his mouth in horror, AR’s mouth dropping in shock. WQ slowly turns around, snow falling off her back, fixing the Mayor and Chief of Police with the most confused look possible.

And while they’re busy staring at WQ, PM ducks out from behind her tree and nails them both in the face. WV’s monocle falls off with the clumps of snow, and as he wipes his eyes, he catches sight of his Queen running out of retaliation range. AR gives chase, and WV can’t help it, running after the pair, trying to scoop up snow on his way.

There’s only one way this can end, and that’s in helpless giggles.


	3. Tea for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cryborgfatom asked:  
> PM and WQ?

A Queen must always have advisers. This is a universal rule, and even in a place as desolate and empty as the Wasteland, advisers arise to fill the need. PM’s kingdom currently holds two hundred people and her capital is really more of a shanty-town, since the permanent buildings are still under construction. She doesn’t have a tower, but she has a white tent and she has a chair, and she has an adviser, so she supposes that makes her a real Queen, even if she isn’t exactly a fancy one. PM actually likes it this way, though sometimes she worries about all the things she has. Why should she have the only real chair? Why should she have the nicest tent?

“Wouldn’t it be better if I had one of the regular tents and we used this for a hospital?” They’re trapped inside today by the sandstorm, a mild one but still violent enough to shut them inside.

“No. This tent isn’t for you, it’s for them. It’s a way for them to assert your power over them,” WQ explains in that comforting voice of hers, her arms resting on her knees as the winds shake the tents sides. “Material things are not power, but they are a reflection of it. As the town grows, the reflection of your power will as well.”

“What if I don’t want it to?” PM tries to think of herself in Prospit’s throne room, all that endless gold, and feels a shiver go down her spine. There’s part of her that’s still a mail lady, a part of her that will always be the woman who follows orders instead of giving them. “What if this is already too much?”

“It won’t be once the buildings are up. It will grow very slowly, very organically.” WQ passes PM a cup of tea (though it isn’t really fair to call it tea). The light pink petals swirl around in the milky fluid, and she sips it, feeling that familiar bitter taste slide over her tongue. It’s funny the kind of things you learn to like when the other choice is ‘nothing at all’. “Believe me; you will be too busy ruling to notice how the trappings of your office change.”

She turns the cup in her hands, frowning softly. “I’m sorry, but… I have trouble believing that.”

“That’s fine. You don’t need to believe it for it to be true.” The Queen sips her own tea, and that serene look on her face takes a hit, mouth going flat. PM can’t help laughing, and even WQ chuckles quietly, setting the tea aside. “Your majesty, may I suggest that we add real teas to our garden instead of attempting to brew stuff from cacti?”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll speak to WV as soon as this storm dies down.” PM knows that if anybody can find them some room for tea, it’s WV.

WQ just sedately nods, setting her ‘tea’ far away from her. “Thank you. I do appreciate the gesture.”

PM just smiles and has another sip. It really isn’t that bad. It isn’t good, but compared to the other things she was forced to drink in the desert, this is like heaven.


	4. Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> JN/WQ

When you killed the Black Queen, you didn’t really have time to enjoy yourself. To be blunt, you weren’t even sure it would work. It was an impulse, a last minute move of desperation. You figured that, hell, what’s the worst she could do if you failed? Kill you? Exile you? You were already on your way to one of those.

And when it worked, when you clutched that bloody ring between your fingers, you felt elated, triumphant, fucking untouchable. It was only later that your win began to sour, when you realized that everything had been over far too quickly. She had tortured you for years, agonized you, saw you brought low and forced you to grovel. The Black Queen had two seconds of pain and it was all over before she’d even had time to scream. What sort of punishment was that?

It wasn’t enough. But you couldn’t go back. You were powerful, so fucking powerful, but you couldn’t hop back in time and tell yourself to keep that toy on a tighter leash. You couldn’t say “just take the bitch’s hand, but don’t chop her up, she’s got to suffer”. That was done and she was dead and there was nothing that could bring her back.

But then you saw her: not the bitch, but her double. The White Queen, and her little rag-tag group of pawns. And you knew that you wouldn’t fuck it up this time. This time, you’d make sure she was alive when you were done. This time, you’d make sure she stayed alive, right until the moment you got bored.

Sure, she’s not the Black Queen. But she’s as close as it comes to a second chance. This time, you’re not going to waste it.


	5. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Submission (because asks don’t allow links :c) by deathsbuddy
> 
> Write a story about the Dersite in the background here.

The Acute Sentinel still wore his uniform, even though he didn’t have to. It was probably a little dangerous to wear it actually. Most of the other people who passed below him in the streets had lost their hats and traded in their new uniforms for old ones. His own was back at home. It would have been easy to head there and pick it up. Nobody was forcing him to do his duty after all. He could leave at any moment.

But he didn’t. He didn’t go home, he didn’t change his uniform and he didn’t leave. Even when it became clear that nobody was in charge of Derse anymore, and that the Archagent was well and truly insane (the reports of him killing even though the war was over, even though some of the troops were his men, sent chills up AS’s spine), he stayed at his post. He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was his programming. Maybe it was because he didn’t know what else to do.

AS stayed and watched. He was the only one to see the Prince and Princess exit their towers, the only one to notice them wandering through the streets. It was him who saw them fly up again, past their towers, and to the base of the Great Chain. He couldn’t see then with his bare eyes after that point but he watched all the same, and when it broke and the moon floated away, it was less surprising than it should have been.

He knew he should sound an alarm… but there seemed to be no point in it. Who would even hear him if he raised it? Jack maybe, and all that would get AS was a sharp sword to the stomach. He may have been unable to take his uniform off, but he was also unwilling to die at the hands of that madman.

So instead he just watched as the moon slowly drifted away, disappearing into the dark sky.


	6. Only a Paper Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> deathsbuddy asked:  
> Coz plz make me feel better about all the Dersites that are gonna die on the moon :(

It has been three hours since the moon was severed from Derse and taken out into the darker realms of space. The first hours was full of departing ships, a mass exodus into whatever spacecraft they could find, or whatever could be made spaceworthy. But the flood died, and then finally even that slow trickle ended.

The Zetetic Conveyor had not boarded a ship. She had helped organize things, made sure that the children and their families were saved first, and then they had done a quick lottery for the other spaces. Zetetic and all the other Z’s had not been drawn, and they watched as the few remaining ships departed.

She feels very numb right now. ZC is surprised she hasn’t already burst into tears. It’s quite clear that she is going to die. With each moment, the moon drifts further way from the safety of the Veil.

“Hey…” ZC is a little startled when she hears the voice. She turns around and finds a much smaller man standing there. He’s still wearing his uniform and he draws off his princess hat, holding it in his hands. “Some of us are gathering down in the courtyard. … Do you want come with us?”

Zetetic has never felt very comfortable with other people. Most of her life has been spent alone, simply moving documents and boxes from one place to another. But right now… the last thing she wants to be is alone. She nods, and they head down to the courtyard to join with the others left behind.

It’s not much, but at least it’s better than being alone.


	7. Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ummm headcanon/ficlet for human!pm, wq, etc?

Her hair’s a complete loss. PM looks at herself in the mirror, and at the knotted and grimy hair, and knows there’s no point in wasting her time trying to wash it clean. She’s already got enough dirt to wash off of her, there’s no point wasting time on this.

PM cuts it off in chunks, working the scissors through the thicker tangled bits. She wishes she had her sword, but she knows the others would be worried if they saw her trying to shave her head with it. So she makes do with the scissors, cutting and trimming until there’s just faint stubble patches over her head.

The shower is still long, even with that out of the way. Dirt slogs off of her and crawls down the drain in waves, and just as it seems she’s gotten one bit of her clean, she finds another bit still caked with old sweat and dust, and she has to scrub. When she does finally emerge from the shower, she’s bright pink all over. The only hair on her face are her eyebrows, two patches of pale white in a field of pink, and PM laughs, covering her mouth in shock immediately after. Her laughter sounds so loud in here, so frantic and unhinged. It sounds like the woman in the mirror, with no hair and skin scrubbed nearly raw.

PM lowers her hands and reaches out to touch the mirror. She hasn’t seen her face like this in ages. Sometimes she saw it in the edge of her sword, or the curve of a tin can, or in an unrusted hubcap. But she hasn’t seen herself straight on with no distortion in a very, very long time. This face is gaunt with hollows wherever they can fit, all jutting chin and cheek bones, the rosiness long drained from her flesh by the sun. It’s like looking at a stranger.

Now she understands why AR kept trying to feed her as much as WV, even when she insisted she was full. PM brings her hand back to trace her face, and when she can’t stand it anymore, she wraps a towel around herself and leaves the bathroom and the awful reflection far behind.


	8. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> deathsbuddy asked:  
> WV getting revenge

The sky cracks and churns with toxic green light, and WV is forced to look away from Jack Noir, or what used to be him. The light is oppressive; it casts long harsh shadows across the battlefield and turns the air electric.

He can’t watch, but he hears, he listens as Jack Noir screams with a fury that is terrifying. It’s the same shriek WV heard the day Noir massacred his army, that same wordless cry of hate and pure destruction. He feels the terror well up in him, screaming to WV that he should turn and flee. But he doesn’t. WV stands his ground and opens his eyes and sees the moment that Noir goes critical. There’s so much light, and the explosion knocks WV onto his ass.

When he can see again, there are green sparks falling from the sky, slowly drifting down to the ground. Everyone else is still knocked out or barely standing. PM is a mess, her arms drenched in Noir’s blood. The same blood is on WV’s hands from where he drew the ring off her fingers.

Noir expected WV to fight him with the ring on. He expected that WV would fight force with force and be inevitably cut down when he proved less of a fighter. It’s clear he never expected WV to cast the Ring into the Scratch and let it eat it alive, to give it a line straight to Jack Noir. Jack wasn’t able to take his own ring off, even as oblivion gripped him.

The ground still ripples beneath them, and the Scratch moves with it, digesting the sudden influx of unknowable cosmic power. WV reaches out for PM and holds her hand tight, knowing that this is was the right choice.

After all, the best revenge is living.


	9. Mwah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked:  
> ar sucking and kissing

The reason he takes so long to kiss WV is not because he doesn’t like him (he does, he’s the first man AR’s ever really liked like this) but because he’s a bad kisser. AR knows this because he’s been told it by his ex-girlfriends, who never exactly explained why, but were always pretty clear that he was bad at it.

So it’s WV who has to kiss him first, and when it stops, he shamefacedly looks at WV and says. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” WV frowns, clearly confused. He gets that look on his face, the one that AR knows means that WV thinks it’s because of him. “Was it-“

“No, no I’m just. I’m bad at kissing. I’m sorry.” He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, glancing down at the ground. “I don’t know why I am.”

“… oh. I thought it was okay But I don’t have anything to compare it to…” WV frowns. “Does that mean I’m a bad kisser?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell either.” This is really not how these things should be going. AR is not an expert in the field but he’s got more experience than WV, who apparently has not even kissed anyone before, and he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to both not know if someone was good. “Maybe we’re both bad.”

“You’re both fine.” PM interrupts them, leaning in and giving them both brief pecks on the lips. “Trust me; I know a good kiss when I get one.”


	10. Paternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked:  
> AR AND WV FIGHTING OVER WHO IS PM'S BABIES FATHER

PM’s still half asleep when their whispered argument slips into her dreams and distorts it, turning what had been an anxiety dream about delivering the mail into a strange discussion between the mail box and a dog about who the baby most looks like.

She wakes up without opening her eyes, and realizes that she’s not dreaming the words she’s hearing. BB is still sleeping soundly, the infant cradled against PM’s chest. WV and AR are close, maybe sitting on the side of the bed. PM doesn’t so much eavesdrop as just continue to be in the same room as them while they talk.

“No, that’s your brow.” That’s WV speaking, his voice wobbling as he tries to keep it at a whisper. He’s never been very good at staying quiet, prone to lapsing into shouting when things become heated. “Look, it’s the same shape.”

“Look at the rest of her head. Perfectly round, just like yours.” AR seems to be having less trouble staying quiet, and she has to really listen to hear him. “She’s clearly your child.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You’re the father. Look at her eye-shape. Slightly oval, just like yours.” PM has a hard time not smiling. BB’s eyes are too small to properly tell what shape they are, oval or round. WV continues on that path all the same. “You clearly provided genetic material.”

“Her eyes are too small to tell. But they’re round.” It’s getting really hard with the amount of aerobics those two are doing to convince one another that they were responsible for BB. “Look at her legs. They’re skinny, just like yours are. That’s certainly enough to prove your paternity.”

“That’s just her age, she hasn’t developed your thicker legs yet, which she will.” WV’s voice gets louder, and finally that’s enough to make BB stir and whine softly. They both immediately go quiet.

“I think,” PM says, breaking the silence and opening her eyes to look at them, “That BB looks just like me, and that someone should go make lunch because I’m hungry.”

“I can make lunch.” AR’s on his feet in a moment, WV quickly following him up. “We- we can make lunch.”

“I’d like some sort of sandwich.” PM can’t hold it back anymore and she laughs softly to herself as they hurry out of the room, already debating what fillings to use. She glances down at BB, who has settled back to sleep, and just smiles. BB looks like her own person, which in PM’s opinion, is the best person to look like.


	11. Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked:  
> Jaq having a baby

Her hips are too narrow. Jaq never really thought about that before. Why the fuck would she think about her hips? They were just there. She never paid much attention to them. Never had to, not until now. Not until that fucking bastard got her pregnant and she was forced to carry his royal spawn to term.

Too fucking narrow. The Queen still made her try to give birth naturally, just to torture her. Her body had struggled for hours to try pass something it was never meant to. They didn’t even give her an anaesthetic. That bastard’s orders. Couldn’t risk hurting the child. Yeah fucking right. He was willing to risk killing it while Jaq was trying to push it out. He just wanted her to suffer. Apparently the torture of carrying an unwanted by-product of rape wasn’t enough.

They finally put her under in the seventh hour. She was gagged and bound, unable to say a fucking thing as they filled a needle and slipped it into her neck-joints. If she could have spoken, she would have begged for an overdose. Kill them both, end it all now. Don’t give him what he wants. Her teeth had chewed on the gag fruitlessly and the Queen just stood up in operating theatre and watched behind curved glass. Before Jaq went under, she saw him smile.

When she woke up, it was all over. They’d even stitched her up and changed her out of that bloody uniform. Her restraints were gone, and though it hurt, she managed to get out of bed and go limping through the medical ward’s corridors. It was easy to find where the child was being kept. Jaq’s eyes slid away from the name plate and to the small figure inside. The child was sleeping peacefully behind thick glass. It didn’t stir, not even as Jaq started pounding on the glass.

There was a window nearby. All she needed to do was break through, grab this tumour of a being, and run for the window. She can see it tumbling in her mind’s eye, falling down towards the streets until it became a tiny black speck.

That thought is still in her mind as the bastard wraps one of his tentacles around her hips. He leans in close, too fucking close, leaning his head against hers. Jaq’s hands grip the glass and she stares down at it, trying to ignore the Queen’s hand sliding over her stomach. He presses his fingers against the stitches, and as Jaq wheezes with pain, he just smiles and says, “She’s got your eyes.”


	12. You're a Wizard, WK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> WK turns on WQ with his wizard fic.

“Zazzerpan’s grizzled hand clutched Frigglish’s as the two men faced down the loathsome creature. The behemoth’s many orifices gaped widely, a never-ending incoherent wailing emitting from those connected to the beast’s speech centers while the others spewed a noxious fume that lingered listlessly on the floor, thick swirling clouds that hid the creature’s other appendages from sight.” The Writ Keeper glances down at the Winsome Quatorzian, whose head rests in his lap. “Am I boring you?”

“Of course not. I find this fascinating.” WQ smiles up at her husband, and at the book carefully held in his large hands. “I would like nothing more than to hear how Zazzerpan and Frigglish escape the clutches of the dreaded Cumberbeast.”

Others may have suspected she was being mildly sarcastic. The Writ Keeper knew better. He returned her smile, and began to read again. “One grotesque and throbbing extremity raised itself from the turbulent mist and slowly but surely made its way towards Zazzerpan.”


	13. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the HSO

The first thing she ever kills is a blackbird. Jade doesn't like rifles very much, but grandpa is very insistent that she learn to use them. She won't understand why until much later, not until she's lost it all and been reborn in green regret.

What she remembers most vividly about the bird is how it fell. She wasn't even aiming for it, but she'd forgotten about the buckshot and the way it spreads wide. Like always, her aim was just a little to the side, close enough that she could pretend it was her aim that slipped every so slightly at the last second. She was pretty sure grandpa had figured out what she was doing, but he hadn't said anything to her yet, so she just did it, letting the heavy gun lean a little to the left. When she pulled the trigger, she fell back on the grass, staring up at the sky. And she saw how the buckshot hit the bird's right wing and it fell.

Jade left the gun where she fell on the ground as she ran towards it. Maybe it wasn't really hurt. Maybe it was just a little wounded. In those feverish steps, she imagined herself caring for it, nursing it back to health. She thought of how it would slowly grow to trust her and love her, and when she let it go, how it would return to her bedroom window for seeds and to say good morning. Those thoughts were easier than the others clambering to be heard.

Her grandpa followed at a slower pace. He knew where it fell; a skill she hadn't learned yet. She searched blindly until Bec took pity and nudged her in the right direction.

It wasn't dead when she found it. Jade had cried then, terrified at what she had saw. There was so much blood on the ground, and it was still trying to fly, broken wing limp and useless, but the other flapping so hard that she thought it might break off. It made sounds that she never thought birds could make, horrible painful sounds and she put her hands over her ears, trying to block them out. This was not something that could be nursed back to health. They would need to take his wing entirely to save him, and that might not even be enough. Who knew how deep the buckshot had gone, or what it had hit.

The bird tried to fly but it couldn't even get off the ground. It only just smeared the blood around and made it worse, made it so much more horrible. She started crying, pressing her hands tighter to her ears. "I'm sorry!" Jade yelled to the bird, knowing it couldn't understand her. "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

Grandpa had entered then, coming at his own pace. She'd looked up at him for help, tears streaming down her face. He took off his pith hat and knelt down beside her, taking her hands off of her ears. Even as she shook her head and began to beg not to hear it, he shushed her and kept her hands down. The bird's cries were terrifying and she sobbed harder, but she listened to them. She had to. He was not being cruel, though she didn't know that at the time. But he'd held her hands and squeezed them and said, "Always aim true. Nothing deserves to suffer like this, not because of a mistake."

He took his own rifle off his back and put it in her arms. Grandpa braced and steadied her shaking aim, but it was Jade who had to point the gun at the bird. It was Jade who pulled the trigger and who silenced the bird in a bang and a flash of feathers.

This is all she can think of, all she can remember when Dave comes towards her. His wing is splintered and broken, his side bleeding hard. She remembers that blackbird on the forest floor.

She's too old to lie to herself anymore. There are no daydreams about nursing him back to health and seeing him sit at her window, pestering her for attention and an assortment of sunflower seeds. There's not even a window for him to sit at, not with Prospit's moon smashed into the side of the planet. There's nothing, but that's fine, because Jade knows how to aim true. Jade knows that nothing deserves to suffer, not because of a mistake, even if it wasn't hers.

Jade knows what she has to do. And she promises him this as she puts her arms around him, resting her hand lightly over his wound.


	14. Just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the HSO

The White Queen is a wise and just ruler. Her people tell her this each and every day as they enter her throne room, asking her for judgement and her wisdom. They line up politely and speak to her with respect and awe. She carefully listens to each story and gives it her full attention and she always remembers to smile when she passes her judgement.

She is a good Queen and she knows this because her people are always happy to see her. In her presence, all their troubles melt away. They forget about the oncoming War and they remember how to smile without desperation, how to laugh without being too loud. When her hand touches their foreheads, they sag with relief and they clasp her other hand and thank her.

The White Queen does not show her worries to her people. She saves those feelings for when she's alone in her chambers, when she stands by her window and looks out at the moon, hanging from a chain. She is a good Queen, and she does not weep in front of them or show them how sad she is, how hard it is to bear their sorrows for them.

She is a good Queen and she knows this because Prospit is prepared. There are shuttles and ships to take her people to safety when they lose. There is food and water in the holds, enough to help them live in the world beyond the portals. She loves her people, and so she does what she must to prepare them. There will be a day when Prospit loses and that day draws closer and closer. She moves quietly and without undue panic or worry. Her people deserve to be happy while they can be.

From her tower, she can see the Dreamers' chambers. She watches them often. Each day, after she takes the sorrows and the pains from her people, when she adds them to her own burden, she finds herself looking out the window at the place where the Prince and Princess lay.

The White Queen is obedient, and so she does not move against the sleeping children. She understands what they will unleash on her people. She has looked into the clouds and seen what will come, and she knows it will be at their hands that her people are destroyed. This could be ended before it ever began. All it would take would be a single assassin with a blade. It could be done quietly. There would be no pain. And then this burden would be lifted from her shoulders.

But she is a good Queen, and she is an obedient Queen. Each day, she dons her crown and each day she sits on the throne. She smiles and soothes and loves her people, and they love her back. They don't know how their love suffocates her. They don't know how their love kills her slowly, weighing her down with hopes and dreams and promises that will never come true. And if she is a good Queen, then they will never know.

The Princess leaves her tower, and the White Queen is there to see her as she flies from it for the first time, her eyes looking out over the golden city. To her, it must be a good dream. She's the princess in a fairy tale. To be a good princess, she must be happy, and happiness is easy for children.

She is a good Queen and she greets the princess when she arrives. The girl is dressed in gold, a wide smile on her face and she curtsies, giggling with delight as she does. The White Queen looks at this girl, the one who will lead to the destruction of everything she is, and she returns that smile.

The boy never rouses from his slumber, but the girl returns many times. She returns with tears and sorrows, and she lays them at the foot of the White Queen because she had no one else to tell them to. The White Queen listens to each one, and she soothes the child, brushing aside tears. She is a good Queen, and she takes each sorrow without question and adds it to her own burden. She is an obedient Queen, and she does not kill the child while she has the chance.

And when the child is done, she puts both arms around the White Queen's neck and hugs her tightly, thanking her for being such a good listener. And the Queen smiles as she always does and never shows how she really feels. She is a Good Queen after all, and she knows this because the princess always leaves her throne room alive.


	15. Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the HSO

PM finds ships in the sand. It's not that much of a surprise. They had to come through the portals too, and ships were the only safe way of doing that. If she had to guess, PM would say that there were ships like this all over the planet, thousands and thousands of them.

It's not a surprise to see them, but it never stops them from being less sad. They're often half-buried in dunes, only the prow sticking out. She always checks them, just in case there are supplies. She's always too hungry and thirsty to risk walking away from the ships, even if the experience of searching them is always unpleasant.

There are bodies in a third of the ships. Lots of them died on impact. She finds their bodies in the remains of cracked and broken ships, their supplies spilled out on the ground and covered with time. PM buries the bodies and digs out what she can. Sometimes, she ships are fine, but there are still bodies inside. It's easy to see what happened in them. Everything works, even the doors, even the guns they used to end their lives with.

The desert air dries everything out, even the bodies. They look almost like normal, except when you look closely and see how everything but the shell has shrivelled. It's not bad. The bodies never smell, a small blessing. Even when they've killed themselves, the blood and brain has all dried to dust and there's no smell to be found there at all. She moves quickly when she finds these bodies, grabbing the supplies and going as far away as she can from the eerie ships.

She uses them as landmarks as she walks. The days are long and the desert is hot and oppressive, and the light is so bright that she can always see the ships days in advance. The glittering gold of Prospit ships always beckon her near, flashing and sparking at the edges of her eyes as she and her cart roll across the landscape. Derse doesn't shine, but she still notices them, a shadow on the horizon that never fades.

There's a sadness she can never shake when she passed by the shapes of capital ships, all by covered in sand. Those were once full of people like her, people who fled the horrors of war to find something better. And what did they find? Endless sand. Long hot days. No water, no food. And the constant creeping madness that presses down on her with each step she takes along her winding and aimless journey.

There are times when she thinks that maybe she should stop walking. Maybe the next time she finds a ship and stops to bury their dead, she'll just shut the door and stay there forever. These thoughts always come to her when the ships are a few days off, just beyond her reach. But they always leave when she reaches them, fading away and replacing with other less dangerous thoughts.

PM knows she can't stop here. She can't give up. It's hard to walk, it's painful and sad and difficult to keep going when she doesn't know what she's doing, or where she's going to end up. It's frightening to move forward when it might mean she'll die where no one will ever find her, swallowed by the desert. But she has to move. She has to keep walking.

Each ship is sad, but each ship is also good. Because each ship is another person who survived. Each ship is a person who made it through. Not all of them lived when they landed, and not all of them are living now, but she's not the only one in this desert. And one day soon, she'll find those other people.

She won't be alone. And it won't be a surprise to see them.


	16. Dream a Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the HSO

She drifts through dreambubbles, watching from the window of her tower as she is privy to the inner secrets of her friends, both old and new. Rose is not certain if this was planned when Dave created his route. It could be that he had planned the most efficient route, one that just so happened to contain the dreambubbles. Or it could also be something more deliberate on his part, one last way to say goodbye those he was leaving.

That much will have to remain uncertain for now. Dave is still slumbering on Derse and Rose is here among others dreams. The large severed moon does not seem to raise any suspicions from those dreaming. That only makes sense. There are many times when strange things have intruded on her dreams and it’s only upon waking that she is aware that they were strange or out of place.

Of course, this is really only raising further questions about her own dreams and the locations they may have been taking place in.

Inbetween the bubbles, when the moon breaks free long enough to shake off the ethereal memories of the dead and the dreaming, she is able to see pinpricks of light like stars. Rose is not certain what they are. There are no real stars here, except the Green Sun, and she has long suspected that it is a sun only in name and certainly not by any scientific definition of that word. She is aware of red giants and white dwarves, but green is not a colour often found when it comes to objects of a gaseous nature, no matter what animated bodily humour may have lead people to believe.

She thinks that perhaps those points of light are other sessions. Skaia is bright, and from this distance, it is easily mistaken for a star. It seems only sensible to assume this is true of the other small white dots set against the endless black of this place. It is hard to get a good estimation of how many other sessions there are as they slide in and out of dreams, but Rose has already seen a few hundred with her bare eyes, and she suspects there are so many more, just out of range of her eyesight. She wishes she had her telescope, but that was left behind on her physical form, along with most of her other items. How inconvenient.

The night ‘sky’ disappears as she slides into yet another bubble. The inside of the tower changes, sympathetic to bubble she’s just entered. Snow covers the ground and she finds herself wearing her old winter jacket and mitts. They last time she wore them, they were a little small on her. She had grown two inches, and her mother had taken it as an attack on her, responding with a lovely new jacket with flowers embroidered on it. She had also written ‘with love, your mother’ on the tag, a move which had secured her victory for a solid three weeks until Rose had completed a sentimental piece of art using macaroni and glue that expressed her devotion for her mother and her eternal gratitude at receiving such a wonderful upbringing.

She wonders if this is the memory of that doomed timeline version of herself. But that’s not quite right. She knows this memory, but it’s not hers. It’s someone else’s version of it.

Rose smiles as she puts the pieces together and fetches her laptop. It seems it’s time to talk with Dave. She’s certain he’ll have some strong words for her, but he’ll understand in the end. This isn’t her first death, not even her second. But maybe it will be her last. And that’s just fine with Rose. Three is a good number, even if it’s the last one she has.


	17. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> ;________; write something happy pls??? i have sads now.

After everything is over and Jack Noir is defeated, the exiles build Can Town on Earth. WV, PM and AR all live together in a two-story brick house with great big flower beds and a huge garden out back that you can always find WV in when he’s not at work. They’ve got the nicest house on the block and you just know that they love their house because it’s so well taken care of and there’s ivy creeping up the front that WV carefully trims away from the windows so they can still see out.

They’re all pretty busy people what with the mayoring and the judging and the ruling and all that, but they make time for each other. They all like to make dinner together using food from WV’s garden and they eat supper on the back porch. They’ve got a big ol’ swing with room for all of them (because PM was tired of them playing rock paper scissors to decide who got to sit beside her) and they usually sit there, except when they’ve got something they can accidentally spill all over the place, and then they go sit on the lawn to eat.

AR has a small radio that he likes to set up on the porch and turn on after they finish eating. They listen to the local station and just talk to each other between songs. They also dance a lot, with each other and alone, more concerned with making each other laugh at goofy dances and ridiculous attempts to dip and spin. Other nights, when they’re tired, they’ll just lie out on the lawn and look up at the sky, watching the blue fade into black and waiting for the stars to come out.

There are fireflies in the garden, hundreds of them, and they’ll stay out late after the sun goes down just to be around their blinking lights. WV always knows which one is Serenity even though they all look the same. Sometimes PM falls asleep because she’s all tuckered out from a long day of decrees and general Queenly duties. Other times it’s WV who goes for an after-dinner snooze, dreaming vividly of sunny days and white marble halls. They’ve got an old quilt for those times since it doesn’t matter if it gets grass stains on it. AR never falls asleep since somebody has to keep watch. Just because they live in a safe place doesn’t mean you can’t always be a little vigilant.

WQ and WK live just on the outskirts of town in the back of a library and they often come over in the evening to visit. WK brings books he thinks they’ll like and WQ makes sure they don’t talk about work too much. There’s a spare room in the house that they stay in sometimes when it gets too late to go home. When that happens, WQ and WK will make breakfast for everyone before they wake up, delicious pancakes topped with fruit and whipped cream.

And they all live happily ever after, every single one of them.


	18. Service of the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missingrache asked:   
> AR bringing some criminals to justice? (Or really whatever you think would make him happiest.)

“Hold it right there!” AR points his gun in a hardboiled manner at the hoodlum with the sacks of cash gripped tightly in her hands. “You are under arrest! You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-“

“Nyah, you’ll never catch me coppers!” The villainous crook points her own pistol at AR and pulls the trigger. He can’t get out of the way in time. AR’s hit twice in the chest and he staggers, falling to the ground and sprawling across it.

“I died as I lived,” AR gasps out, clutching the wet stains on his chest, “In the service of the law.”

The robber runs up to AR, points the pistol at his face and pulls the trigger. Another blast of water hits him in the face, and the criminal scum giggles, running across the law. “Mommy, mommy I won!”

“Oh did you?” AR wipes his eyes clean and glances over, just in time to watch PM scoop up the Cherished Lass, settling her against one hip. “You’re becoming quite a criminal mastermind. What was that, the forth bank this week?”

“Sixth.” AR corrects, sitting up. His shirt is soaked with water, and he idly wipes at it. It’s nice and warm out, and he’ll dry pretty quickly. Anyway, he doesn’t have court today so he doesn’t have to be anywhere.

“You have been busy. Use your ill-gotten gains for good.” Their daughter squirms and PM sets her back down. AR watches as CL runs up the stairs to her room, feet pounding on the floor. PM brings him back to reality, as she always does. “Where’s WV?”

“Tied up in the back yard after CL robbed him of his hard-earned money.” He gets to his feet and brushes the grass off his pants. “We should probably rescue WV before the ants reach him.”

“A fine idea.” PM links her arm with his when AR reaches her, and they head off to the backyard, the sun shining bright overhead.


	19. Confidant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cryborgfatom asked: White King is drinking buddies with Ace Dick agent.

When you’re a King, it’s difficult to find a confidant you can really put your trust in. It’s equally difficult to find leisure time, since duty often calls unexpectedly and at often very inconvenient moments. And with the busy life of a King, finding someone who can fulfil two roles at once instead of one is essential.

The Arrant Defender fills both of these easily, and serves as a body guard. Despite his shorter frame, he’s all muscle, and the King’s never seen AD’s punches fail to assert his authority over those who challenge him. He can hold his liquor and his tongue, at least when it comes to what the White King passes along to him. He’s not certain if AD is simply that good at keeping secrets, or if the words just don’t stick in his mind, but either way it is spectacularly useful. The Defender has rather more trouble when it comes to matters of holding his tongue with those who slight him, but if the King’s very presence isn’t enough to settle the fight, he’s certainly willing to stand back and let AD use his fists to settle it.

There’s not much time for drinking on the Battlefield, but they manage to find time now and then, usually in the wee hours of the morning when the endless war ends to plan the next attack and remove the dead from the board. Once the plans have been drafted, and before the King sleeps for a few hours, he and AD sit outside the war tents, each with a drink of their choice.

The King prefers a single glass of scotch, carefully savouring every last drop and then drinking no more. The Defender just drinks whatever he can find, often from a bottle, with no complaint. They talk only a little: the King about his worries, AD about what annoys him. Most of the time is spent in silence, both men grateful for the companionship, but not feeling any need to speak.

The glass and bottle are eventually drained, and AD staggers off his tent to sleep while WK returns to his own. He misses Prospit, and he misses his wife, and he fears for the future of his people and his nation.

But now and then, for an hour or two, he can lay his troubles on someone else’s shoulders. And for that, he is eternally grateful.


	20. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whaoanon asked:   
> what if instead of killing everyone when jack comes out of the flower thing, what if, what if instead something else happens AND THEY ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER?????

Jack Noir emerges from the flower, spreading wide his wings and raising his bloodied sword-

And promptly falls flat on his face. His wings and snout, which had been there when he went into the flower, are gone. The sword’s missing as well. In fact, as far as Jack can tell from where he’s laying face-down on the floor, he’s missing all of his prototypings.

His eyes glance over at the ring on his hand. All the orbs that two seconds (or a million years) ago are dim. He has about two seconds to take this all in before he’s hauled up off the floor and on to his feel.

“Get the fuck off of me-” Jack spits out, stopping only when he realizes he was looking at the White King and White Queen, who are not dead in any way, no matter what that girl with the crowns had said. “Son of a bitch-“

“Hold him tighter.” The White Queen grabs hold of his ring-hand while the King squeezes Jack tight. All the air comes shooting out of his lungs, and it feels like his eyes might pop out. With some effort, she forces the ring off his finger, clutching it tightly in hers. Jack struggles as hard as he can, but he can’t fucking breathe. Seems like the White King isn’t taking any chances.

Just before he blacks out, he hears the rumble of the White King speaking to the White Queen. “Think we should tell the others or just finish him off down here?”

He finds out the answer to that question a few hours later, when he wakes up in the shittiest jail he’s ever been in. It’s not even really a jail. It’s just a hole in the ground that he can’t climb out of. There’s a Dersite up there wrapped in caution tape, and when Jack sits up, he points a gun at him. “Stay right there criminal scum!”

“Shut the fuck up, my head’s killing me.” Jack clutches his forehead, and squints upwards. It’s too bright here, way too fucking bright. “Where am I?”

The agent doesn’t answer. He just keeps the gun aimed at Jack, glaring at him. Jack rolls his eyes and looks around. It’s a hell of a hole they’ve dug for him. The fucking King and Queen must have ordered them to do it. He sighs and puts his back against one unstable wall, waiting for someone to show up.

Somebody does. Two of ‘em. Not the King and Queen though. There’s two people up there dressed in rags, a Prospitian and a Dersite. Jack gets on his feet. The Prospitian’s wearing a crown. Looks like she’s in charge here. Jack fucking hates a queen, but he’ll play good until he can get a chance to stab them.

“Heeey. Hi. Nice to meet you. You mind telling me why I’m down in this pit? Or why he’s pointing a gun at me?” He lies through his fucking teeth. When they don’t give him an answer, he lies some more. “Look, whoever you think I am, I’m not him. I’m the Draconian Dignitary. I do paperwork and that sorta stuff.”

The Dersite pushes his hood back and pulls the wrappings around his face down. Jack’s eyes widen a little. Shit. It’s the rebel from the Battlefield. “Your name is Jack Noir.”

“Yeah… yeah it is.” He changes tactics. “I remember you. You rose up against the Black King too, just like me. Couldn’t stand how they were running the joint either, huh? I left you alive, I remember that.”

“You killed my army.” Looks like somebody’s still pissed about that. This is really not going how it was planned. “And then you blew up my ship.”

“Didn’t kill you though. You look pretty good.” Jack points out. He does look good. “And you ain’t doing too bad. Your wife’s a looker.”

“I’m not his wife.” The Prospitian says, and there’s… something familiar about that voice.

“Yeah? You run this joint then?” He turns on the charm. It’s not like he’s got anything to lose. “What’s your name, doll?”

The moment she pulls her hood back, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he picked the absolutely worst place to turn up powerless and ringless. Because right now, he’s standing in a fucking pit, with the fellow whose army he killed, and the woman whose kingdom he destroyed. It’s clear she knows exactly who he is by the look she gives him. “Never call me that again.”

“Aw fuck.” Jack mutters, sitting back down on the ground. He’s a dead man. And if he’s not, then his future is about to get a whole lot more boring.


	21. Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> c-rowles asked:   
> WV's thoughts as he bleeds out? Wounds like his take a human like a solid minute to die from, and he probably lasted longer since one carapacian apparently has as much blood as the whole theater cast of RENT.

It happened so fast. One moment he was just waking up, shaking off the bad dreams that had haunted him, and the next, Jack was there. He thought it was another bad dream, right until the moment Jack’s hand plunged into him and WV felt real pain, more bright and vivid than anything else he had ever felt. Jack’s mouth had been open, all of his teeth bared, and the pain barely surpassed the bolt of horrifying fear.

And then Jack was gone, and WV was lying there on the floor, this endless painful throb from his guts blanking out everything else. It hurt too much to move. It hurt too much to think straight. All he could do was suffer and stare up at the ceiling in shock.

The ring’s still there under the wrappings around his knife. He struggles to reach for it, but even though it’s not his arms that are hurt, just moving them sends unimaginable jolts of pain through his body. It hurts so much he can’t even scream, only managing a thin whistle of agony.

He can hear someone yelling. It’s PM. WV’s in far too much pain to call back to her, even as she can hear her. She’s screaming. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not directed at him. PM’s screaming at Jack. And she’s screaming AR’s name.

Understanding comes slowly, nearly drowned out by the waves of pain. She’s not mad at AR either. He must be dead. Just like WV will be soon. He tries to reach out to touch the hole in his stomach, but he can’t lift his arms. WV’s fingers and wrist just tremble helplessly and collapse back on the floor.

PM’s still yelling and WV’s eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. He’s starting to feel cold. The pain clears a little, and he’s able to think again. He tries to raise his voice. “PM-” But little more than a whisper comes out.

He wonders what happened to WQ. And he wonders how PM survived. Maybe AR saved her. He hopes so. WV hopes it was brave and that he wasn’t too afraid, and that it was quicker than this. Because this is so slow, and it hurts so much, and he’s so afraid. He can’t even talk to PM. He can’t even reach the ring. All he can do it stare up at the ceiling.

His fingers tremble as he tries to lift his arm again. WV can’t die like this. None of them can die like this. They have to build Can Town. They have to start over again. They have to find the others who were exiled and save them too. He can’t have survived so long just to die here and now. That’s not fair. They were just about to start over again.

There’s a clank, and it sounds so distant. His vision is starting to get dark. The pain and the cold are pulling him away from the world. He struggles to stay behind, his eyes on the ladder’s rungs. WV doesn’t want to die alone. He’s so tired of being alone.

They’re supposed to build a city together. He’s supposed to be the mayor. They’re- they’re supposed to-

His thoughts become jumbled as he bleeds out on the floor. The last thing he sees before the dark takes him is PM. She says something and the words get lost, distorted by his brain. But he sees the horror of her face, and the blood on her hands, and thinks about friendships, and bodies, and Jack, just before his eyes close.

After that, he doesn’t think of anything else.


	22. Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:   
> Dignitary <3 Jack, possible unrequited

Jack doesn’t respond to the radio anymore. The Dignitary keeps trying, even after it becomes clear that it’s pointless. He knows it’s a waste of time and it’s not logical, but he still presses the button and uses the proper code name to call for him.

The last time he does it is when he finds himself trapped on the moon, floating up into the black of the sky and ever further away from Derse. The first few calls are simple, just the usual “Come in Spades”. He tries something a bit more frantic when it becomes clear that Slick still isn’t answering.

“Jack, come in. The Derse Dreamers cut the moon loose and are taking it into space.” He pauses, waiting for an answer. There’s nothing, not even static. The few ships he spotted heading towards the docks are already gone. He tries again, a little desperation leaking into his voice. “Jack, I’m trapped on the moon.”

Skaia is a pinprick of light. Derse grows steadily smaller. He checks the batteries on the radio. He changes to a different channel and radios the Droll. “Clubs, come in.”

“Hi Dignitary!” Any hope that it was an issue with his radio go out the window at the sound of that cheery voice. “I’m almost ready to kill her! I thought up a great idea!”

“Is Jack near?” His eyes stray to that distant green planet, growing ever smaller and ever most distant.

“No, he’s still with the Princess. But I found a use for all that shaving cream!” The Dignitary sits down on the steps in front of a building, resting his arms on his knees. He’s never been a man with many feelings (or feelings at all). But right now, he’s feeling something in his heart, dim and tight, but real. “Dignitary, you could come watch this!”

“I can’t. When you see Jack, tell him I’m trapped on the moon.” He hears the Droll start to squawk and changes channels. Dignitary doesn’t want to talk about this right now.

He tries Jack one last time. There’s real emotion in his voice this time, strained and painful. “Jack Noir, I’m going to die. Pick up your fucking radio.”

Nothing. Not a word. He tries again. “If we were ever friends, pick up.”

The lights get farther and farther away. He can’t see the planets anymore. Derse is tiny, able to easily be covered up by a thumb. Half an hour ago, it dominated the moon’s sky.

“For fuck’s sake Jack. Pick up your radio. I need you to pick up your radio. I-” He pauses, regaining control over himself. “Jack, I need you.”

There’s nothing but radio silence. The Dignitary waits as long as he can, until Derse turns into a tiny purple speck and then disappears entirely. He raises the radio one last time. “Jack. I’m- … I’m going to kill the Dreamers. Don’t waste this.”

He sets the radio on the ground and grabs hold of his spear, turning his eyes up towards the Princesses tower. This is a suicide mission. But it’s better than waiting on a rescue that isn’t coming.

DD steels himself and heads for the tower.


	23. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nickiemoot asked:   
> could I request WQ/WK fluff with happy ending...

It surprises her how easily he was able to give up being King.

For WQ, giving up power was not an easy thing. She contents herself with a pale reflection of it - adviser to a Queen, but no longer a Queen herself - and even then it fails to entirely satisfy. She knows her time has passed, but she feels that itch inside of her, the hardwired need to deliver orders and shape their society.

By contract, her husband had no trouble letting go of his warlike days. He runs a library now, and he spends his days cataloging and shelving books. WK is always so pleased to see her, and content to stand at the front desk, stamping cards in books and showing people to the section they’re interested in.

She asks him about it once, late at night. The library is closed, but the lights are still on. There are comfortable beanbag chairs in the children’s section, and they’ve gathered them together, lounging on them and drinking a bottle of wine. Her head is on his chest and one large arm is wrapped around her waist.

“Do you ever wish you were the King again?” She has had three glasses of wine, which is why her tongue is looser than it should be. He just chuckles at her question, and she has another sip, waiting for an answer.

“Do you wish you were Queen?” He returns the question.

“Yes.” WQ admits to him, and only to him, curling her free hand around the one clasping her waist. “Daily.”

His hand slides up to rub her back, those thick fingers making soothing circles. “Every night, I dream about the Black King rising up on the horizon. No matter how many steps we take, we’re no closer to each other than when we started. But each step crushes thousands of pawns, and by the end, their blood is so deep it’s risen up to my waist, and my true enemy is no closer than he was when I started.”

WK finishes his wine, spilling a little on himself. WQ pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at it until the worst is gone. There’s still a purple blotch on his robes, like an old bloodstain that’s never been fully washed out. “You’ll need to soak this in cold water, dear.”

“Hmm. I’ll do that as soon as we’re done.” He fills his glass again, and hers too. “I’ve had enough of ruling for one lifetime, my darling. But even I sometimes miss being a King.”

“Then to us.” She raises her glass for a toast and he comes up to meet her. “The librarian and the adviser. May we one day be utterly content with our lot.”

They clink glasses and drink their sweet, heady wine, careful not to spill on the pile of beanbag chairs.


	24. Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: PM/Hearts Boxcars with a nice cheesy "love conquers all" theme.

She doesn’t recognize him. There’s a flash of teeth, of something huge and dark rising out of the bushes, and PM reacts. It’s instinctive, something hardwired in her brain beneath all the layers of information about sorting mail and delivering packages. Her aim is perfect, and the sword cuts his head off in one fell swoop. 

PM staggers back, blood dripping down her sword and pattering against the ground. The man’s body falls too, and as her eyes finally rest on the severed head, she realizes that she knows this face. That’s the Hegimonic Brute. That’s her ex-boyfriend. 

She’s still staring at it when the White King speaks up, and it’s a good thing he’s out of reach of her sword, because she brings it up automatically. “We cannot linger here.” 

“I can. You can’t.” She holds her hand out for his crown, which he relinquishes. “Go find your scepter, and then meet up with the White Queen. I have to stay here.” 

“I wouldn’t trust him. It’s clear he sent this one here to double-cross you.” The White King nods to the bleeding body. PM looks at it and remembers vividly how it felt to lay her head against that chest. 

“I don’t have a choice.” She tucks the crown into her mailbag with the other, and waits for the White King to leave. PM approaches the body. She feels detached, and a little numb. This is the first time she’s seen him in two years now. And she hadn’t even hesitated. 

PM digs through his uniform until she finds the walky-talky. There’s nothing else on him, and she feels a small cold ball of relief. It would be so much worse if there was something there, like her picture or something. She has no idea if he remembered who she was either, or if she was just a distant memory, two seconds of ‘she looks familiar’ before leaping from the bushes. It’s certainly more comforting than the alternative, which is that he knew who she was and he still came for her. 

PM should feel worse about this. But she’s already dethroned her King and Queen, and she can smell blood all around her. What’s one more body among all of this? 

His blood runs out into the stream and PM brings the radio up to her mouth to speak.


	25. Woof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emberkeelty asked: scotty dog bikini go

He’s going to kill Droog. That’s just what’s going to happen. The moment that ass walks into his office with that smug-know-it-all smirk on his face, Jack’s going to launch himself over his desk and strangle Droog with his paws for letting the Queen know that the uniform Jack really wanted was this one. 

And fuck these paws. How’s he supposed to work like this? He can’t even hold a pen in uniform. And what a uniform. It’s hot, and funny, and it smells like sweat, and he’s got the most inappropriate boner he’s ever had in his life. That’s saying something considering that most of them have been inappropriate, but only this one has been while he was dressed up like a Scottie dog. 

Jack’s about ready to rip the head off his suit when he hears the all too familiar click of the Black Queen’s feet on the marble floors. He slouches in his desk, glowering out through the dog head’s open mouth. The glower turns to wide-eyed horror as he realizes that the dog costume isn’t the only thing. 

She’s wearing what could be kindly called a bikini. There are little terriers across both cups, little tiny terriers frolicking across her breasts. The prototyping’s given her floppy ears, and as she walks closer to him, they twitch a little. 

Jack just gives up and slumps forward on the desk, cursing his hard-on, and the Black Queen, and most of all Droog for being a nasty smug fucking tattle-tail. He was going to pay for this - assuming Jack made it out of here alive, that is.


	26. Give You Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Oooh, now I'm curious about PM and HB's love life before the war started. Also wondering how the break-up went.

The break-up was inevitable. Their relationship had always been a little rocky, their personalities grating in ways that they couldn’t fix. He was a romantic, she was a realist; he liked grand gestures, she preferred small ones; he wanted to propose to her after their first month together, she was always uncomfortable with calling him her boyfriend; he was loyal to Derse, and she was loyal to Prospit.

Still, they’d had good times. They’d compromised on some things. And she liked knowing there was someone on Derse who would always be happy to see her drop by after delivering packages, who would make dinner and talk with her for hours, and would kiss her like maybe the War wouldn’t come, like maybe everything would be fine in the end. PM never quite knew what he saw in her, though she never doubted that he saw something. Maybe she really was the one he loved like no other. Or maybe he was just desperate to find love and she was exactly what the doctor ordered. 

But the War came anyway, and as it got closer with each day, their relationship stopped being an exciting sort of taboo, and started directly affecting their lives. Loyalties were called into question, and warnings were issued that made it clear that if this continued, it would end in exile, or worse.

It was easy to take her things out of his apartment. She never really moved anything in, besides a toothbrush and a change of clothes. They both went into her bag, and she gave him back a few of his gifts, the more expensive ones.  
   
“You should keep the ring.” It was the only thing he pressed her on when she gave it back. “It was a gift. An’ I don’t want anyone but you to wear it.” 

She’d kissed him on the cheek then, and put the ring back on her finger. They didn’t make a scene about it as she left, but she knew they were both feeling as relieved as they were saddened. For better or worse, life would certainly be less complicated from here on out, without any troublesome shades of grey. 

The ring went into the back of her dresser, and there it stayed, right until Prospit burned and everything they’d both ever known came to an end.


	27. Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pleg asked: coz tell me a cute story about a day in the life of WV

He woke up early on harvest days. WV didn’t need the extra time, but it was nice to have it all the same. It gave him time to prepare for the day ahead of him, eating his usual breakfast of roasted seeds and fresh juice, and thinking of how to load all his pumpkins.

The scarecrow greeted him as WV headed outside, smiling to the ragged uniform that flapped in the breeze. The bucket head rocked in the wind, nodding back to WV. 

He hummed as he worked, clipping pumpkins from their vines and carrying them over to the crate. WV loaded the biggest pumpkins in first, while he was still fresh and strong. Now and then, his humming turned briefly to singing, his thin clear voice echoing off the walls of his house. It never lasted long, and he would stop to drink water from the well, letting it refresh him before starting on the next set.

The soft dirt packed down beneath his feet, and by the time noon came, he had a hard path to move along with his pumpkins. The crate was mostly full, and WV stopped to eat, feeding himself a couple of slices of pie and a smoothie. He was growing tired of all the orange, but he knew he wouldn’t have to eat pumpkins for much longer. Soon, he’d get a break.

In the afternoon, he loaded the last of his harvest, keeping only the smallest pumpkins that had only begun to grow. These would be his to eat while he waited for the plants to begin again. It wouldn’t be too long. On the Battlefield, there was always light and warm weather and ideal conditions to grow and grow and grow. 

While he waited for the supply ship to come, he sat on the fence of his farm and looked out across the rolling checkerboard hills. His heart felt warm and happy, and he softly smiled, thinking about the future. He hoped to expand his farm soon and add something else besides pumpkins, something green. Peas maybe. Or string beans. His mouth watered at the thought.

The ship arrived. WV’s pumpkins were inspected, approved, and taken away. In return, they gave him a box of supplies to last him until the next harvest. He was glad to see them leave, not because he didn’t enjoy their company, but because he wanted the calm and quiet to return. As the droning sound of the ship died away, WV heaved a sigh of relief and opened the crate of supplies.

Inside, he found all the green things he’d been hoping for. Dinner was a feast with no pumpkins anywhere to be found. He devoured his soup and his fresh produce, washing it all away with a glass of nice cold milk. WV gave his belly a pat, comfortably full from the night’s large meal. 

He did his last few chores, soaking down his pumpkins beds and nodding a goodnight to the scarecrow. There was no wind, and tonight’s nod was not returned, the cloth hanging straight down instead of flapping about. WV didn’t mind. He liked calm nights, and the way the light sometimes almost seemed less bright, even though he knew that couldn’t be true. 

WV stood in the doorway of his home, taking one last look over his crops and smiling to himself. What a perfect day. What a perfect life. He lay his head against the doorway for just a moment, looking at the maze of green vines. Dersites would be eating those pumpkins tonight, all because of his hard work. They wouldn’t know where they came from, but they’d be grateful all the same, and happy to have something to fill their bellies with. 

WV hums softly to himself before withdrawing from the door and heading off to bed, utterly content with his life.


	28. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: do a fic in a setting (alt session or AU idgaf) with a happy ending for somehow both the exiles and the Midnight Crew (And Snowman too, if it's possible). I know it's kind of implausible, but after that EOA I need happy thoughts....

The Queens did it with their own hands. It was only right. In twenty towers, they climbed the stairs and came to the beds where the dreamers lay dreaming, their compound eyes all closed and their pincers tucked in tight. The Black Queen drove her lance through each of their hearts, ignoring the black ichor that poured from their bodies and stained the sheets. The White Queen slit their throats with her own weapon, sitting by their sides and watching to make sure they died quickly and quietly. 

When they entered years later, haunted by dreams of horrorterrors, carrying the weight of a dead world on their backs, the Queens were waiting then too, all of Prospit and Derse united against the invading threat. They killed them easily and without any real bloodshed. Their bodies were taken to the veil, cloned, and the infants sent back through the portals to close the time loops. 

Together, they watched Skaia burn, the eternal reward going up in flames. There would be no War, no deaths, and no players. They would be free. 

And so the children had to die. Forty corpses vs twenty billion? It was a small price to pay to be free.


	29. Contingency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: WQ betraying her friends, killing AR and WV, and taking the ring. Before WK and Jack Noir came in.

The larger a plan is, the more likely something will go wrong. She knows this; she’s always known this. So when she discovers that AR has a device that automatically prepares food for them, she is only slightly disappointed at this turn of events. She has a contingency plan for everything after all, even the eventuality that she would be unable to slip poison into their foods. 

It’s a pity really. The poison would have been quick and nearly painless. She does not like nor trust the Dersites, but she has no desire to see them suffer. A good Queen does not take pleasure in causing undue suffering. 

“That’s a unique sword you have. May I see it?” She asks the Prospitian, wrapped in faded rags. The woman hesitates - proof of how long she’s been out in the desert that she resists WQ’s command for even a moment - before holding it out. WQ grasps the weapon by the hilt and studies it. It’s Dersite in origin, and even after all this time in the desert, the blade is sharp.

It has been some time since she held a sword in her hands, but it comes back to her, just like riding a bike. She is the ruler of nowhere and nothing, but she is still a Queen, superior in all ways, and her first swing lops off the heavy-set Dersite’s head. The second splits the other open the stem to stern. Her third swing should part the Prospitian, but she’s sharper than she looks, and she falls back out of the way of the blade. “What are you doing?!” 

“What needs to be done.” WQ steps forward quickly, moving with only a speed that she can master. The Prospitian is quick, but not quick enough. The sword goes through her stomach and she drops to the sand. “You did you job well soldier. But you’re no longer needed on the board.” 

She kneels by the bodies of the Dersites, searching them. The ring is easily found, hidden underneath some cloth wrapped around a crude ‘knife’. It still crackles with energy even after all this time, four bright orbs promising an impossibly powerful prototyping. WQ slips it on, and for the first time in months, she feels whole. 

The Prospitian is not dead yet. She’s trying to climb to her feet, the sword sticking out of her gut. WQ leaves her to it. She’s a threat to no one like that. Her nose sniffs out something bright and green from inside the one Dersite. A quick poke at his insides reveals the necessary fuel to operate the transporter. She puts it to use, powering the transporter for use, then cleans her hands on what clean bandages are left on the smallest body. 

“You k-killed my friends.” The Prospitian is nearly on her feet. It’s sad to watch her move. A pawn should know when they have been taken off the board. But then again, that’s not how they were built. “you killed-“ 

“Yes. I killed them. But sometimes, sacrifices must be made to win the War. They will be remembered, as you will.” WQ could kill her. After all, if the girl is standing with a sword in her gut, she will inevitably attempt to follow WQ wherever she goes. But that sort of persistence can be useful. She’ll make a good distraction assuming anything has followed WK. WQ nods to her loyal subject and turns her attention to the other terminals. She simply has to think about destroying the others, sliding them wide open with the sword she pulled out of her own guts. And when all but one are broken to base components, she leaves the dead and dying bodies behind, teleporting inside the Frog Temple.

There is an hour to go on the countdown. She takes a seat, curling her wings around her body. He’ll be here soon, and together they’ll leave this place behind, start new somewhere else. Prospit will rise once more, better than before. She knows this for a fact; she’s seen it in the clouds. 

The White Queen waits silently for his return, hearing now and then the sound of the Prospitian as she staggers across the sands.


	30. Pomp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked: jack finding out he doesn't grow when he puts on the ring and being livid about it becuase what a rip

When the changes distort his body, change him and mold him into something new and deadly, he feels powerful and monstrous. Her body is lying in pieces on the carpet, and he turns to it, face split with a smile. He wishes she were alive so he could gloat, and simultaneously is glad she’s dead because she’s dead, she’s dead and it’s the most amazing thing, ever. 

“I won-” He says, stopping dead as he hears himself. That’s... exactly the same as a minute ago. He doesn’t have The Voice, that powerful commanding tone that she always had. Jack checks to see what else he didn’t get with the ring.

The answer is “height”, and the answer to that is to pitch a fit in the Black Queen’s office. It’s not right! It’s not fair! He has the ring on! He should be towering over her remains, dominating the space! But instead, he’s exactly the same size as he was when he didn’t have the ring on-

Hold on. He checks again. He’s actually shrunk an inch. 

Jack flies out the window, heading straight for the Battlefield. Someone is going to pay for this- no, not someone, EVERYONE. 

EVERYONE is going to pay for this, and Jack’s not stopping until he’s the tallest person in the universe.


	31. Finery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked: dignitary in some session where they get prototyed with his favorite kind of fashion and having trouble containing himself

When they bring the new uniforms in, he’s certain there’s been a mistake. After all, Dignitary knows how prototyping goes. Whatever junk the players have lying around their rooms end up in the kernel and the best you can hope for it finding some small less-tacky option to wear on top of your regular uniform. 

But when the rack rolls in and Dignitary finds himself looking at the finest set of suits he has ever seen in his life, he’s struck dumb. The first thing he does is check the the manifest to see where the error was, only to find no error there. First player prototyping; Super 150 men’s wool suit, diamond cufflinks. 

He can barely bring himself to touch the suit, but he does. It’s thinner than any suit he’s ever had, but still perfectly tailored. The cufflinks are magnificent, small clear diamonds set in white gold. 

Dignitary excuses himself to the washroom to change and to get himself under control. The moment the silk lining touches his skin, he shudders with pleasure, his heart rate going up. When he looks in the mirror, he’s taken in by how amazing he looks in charcoal.

When he steps out of the washroom and returns to his desk, there’s another rack waiting. It seems that player two has begun their prototyping as well. He braces himself for the worst as he picks up the manifest. 

Second player prototyping; Itallian wingtips, homburg.

Dignitary heads straight back to the bathroom, taking the new additions with him.


	32. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked: PM breaking up with AR

Jack’s hard to follow out here. She follows his scent, but it goes in strange twisting trails. Sometimes, she finds his scent crossing itself, one distant and old in ways that make her head hurt to think about it. Other times, she crosses her own path, catching a glimpse of white wings beating as she flies through the twisting quilt of time. And even other times, she finds herself plunging through bubbles, moving swiftly through scenes from alien worlds. 

She’s so used to the chase, so used to moving swiftly, that she nearly leaves one bubble. Only a painfully familiar voice stops her, his voice rising up high above the purple halls of Derse. “PM!” AR calls out to her, and she stops, wings beating frantically in the air as she twists around. 

He’s standing at a window, wearing his uniform. He’s got a princess hat on, and that’s so silly it makes her want to cry. It’s been so long since she had anything worth laughing at in her life. The last time she laughed was- 

Was shortly before Jack arrived. 

She lands on the windowsill, taking a step inside. No one else looks at her. They’re not real, just figments of AR’s imagination. They go back and forth silently, and AR reaches for her hand. He’s solid to the touch, though his shell is so very cold. There’s something about his eyes that’s not quite right either, even though they’re as white as they should be. “What happened? One moment we were in exile, and then I woke up here and I can’t find a way out. What happened to you? Why are you wearing the ring? Where’s WV?” 

He barrages her with questions, and she feels overwhelmed. For the first time in weeks, in maybe months, PM rests. She sits, and AR sits beside her, worryingly fussing over her. His hand settles on hers, so cold that it nearly burns. She wonders if he can feel the heat from her skin, and if he knows what that means. 

PM has a feeling AR doesn’t know what any of this means, or what’s happened to him. “AR…”

“It doesn’t matter. Forever about it, we can talk later. You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?” He touches her face, looking at the dark circles beneath her eyes. How can she explain that? How can she explain any of this? AR doesn’t seem to notice, giving her a smile. “Look, we’re not far from my apartment. You can sleep there, and I’ll get you something to eat.” 

That sounds wonderful. But his hand is so cold, and she can smell Jack Noir’s trail. The longer she stays here, the further away he gets. “AR… I’m sorry but I can’t stay.” 

“Of course you can. And then we can find the others.” The scene shifts, and she finds herself standing on the Land of… of… the name slips her mind. But she remembers this. This is where she saw the parcel. This is… where she met AR. Her uniform doesn’t fit her anymore, and she can feel her wrappings beneath the illusion. She shakes her head, and it shifts again, hot desert sand beneath her feet. AR’s in his yellow tape, and he’s looking up at her, waiting for her to agree. “We can do this together.”

“I’m sorry… but we can’t.” She leans in, her hands holding onto his cheeks. She kisses him gently, just like she always meant to. He tastes like blood. They both taste like blood. “I’m sorry AR. I’m so sorry. But I have to go.” 

She gently sets his head beside his body. His eyes are so pale, so empty, but they watch her as she spreads her wings and takes to the sky. PM catches Noir’s scent and heads after it, leaving the desert and the dead far behind for a second time.


	33. Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked: BK/BQ isn't a very happy relationship but WK/WQ is. Something about the black queen having like jealousy over that or something???

The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board. 

So why then is she contained and forced to navigate a bureaucracy? Why does she rule from Derse while her husband has the privilege of going to the Battlefield? It eats at her. She’s a better warrior than her husband could ever hope to be, but she’s stuck here, trapped in the maze of Derse’s endless buildings, her enemy so close and yet so far away. 

She and the King are on polite terms, but it would be a lie to call what they have happy, or anything even resembling happiness. In her tower, she chafes at being confined to her throne and chambers, receiving request after request that she couldn’t grant even if they had the resources to grant them. It’s miserable, but isn’t the worst.

No, the worst is seeing the White Queen, so content and so happy with her station. She’s a warrior, just like the Black Queen, but you wouldn’t know that from the way she acts. Like a bird in a cage, the White Queen flourishes and sings all the same. Maybe there’s something about the gold that makes her lot in life more tolerable, maybe being closer to Skaia makes it easier for her double to happily accept a life in servitude to her husband. Or maybe it’s simply an excellent mask, the kind anyone would be envious of.

The Black Queen has no such mask, no such ability to happily accept the lot in life she’s been dealt. It galls her to see someone so content with being unequal, so accepting of her unfair lot. She’s even a little jealous when she sees how they look at one another, wishing that she was able to stop wanting and to just be happy with half a life, to be content as a weapon which is never fired, never cleaned, and never cherished. 

So she sits in a tower, trapped by her lot in life, watching the War play out in her comfortable cat. When the time comes, and the time will come, when her husband needs her help to save him from a hoard of superpowered children, she knows she will tarry a little on her way to the Battlefield, just long enough to ensure his wounds are fatal. 

She may be trapped in this cage for the moment, but certainly not forever. There won’t be anything left to be jealous of when she’s through.


	34. Feelings Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: WV/AR, sitting on a pile of guns talking about feelings

It was not exactly the most comfortable place to be having this sort of a chat, or the safest by any means, but somehow it still felt like the right place to have it. Sure, something sharp and potentially lethal kept prodding WV right in the keister, but AR seemed to be intact and he had assured WV that he’d sat in her lots of times. 

“Alone, of course. There was no one here until you and PM arrived. I shot at some people from a distance once but I don’t know if I hit them or not.” AR said in his usual strange too-blunt way. WV should probably feel a little unsettled by that, considering that he was the person who AR was most recently shooting at, but he didn’t. It wasn’t personal on AR’s part. And it had become very very clear to all of them that AR was… well. 

The desert hadn’t left any of them untouched, but AR seemed to be an extreme case. He had introduced WV to his militia a few days ago, and WV had looked down at the rows and lines of bullets and heavy artillery and nodded to himself as if this were completely normal and acceptable. In this place, it kind of was. What was the difference between this and Can Town, besides the fact that the cans were not people, just buildings? PM had her own thing - those bunches of letters she had stuffed everywhere to be delivered perhaps to the dead. WV wasn’t sure and when he’d asked, he had gotten a rather passionate lecture on the subject of mail, but no real explanation as to why it had to be these letters, besides “the mail MUST go on”. 

“I didn’t have any piles to lay in by myself.” WV shifts, settling his arms on his stomach. There hadn’t been much for him to find besides sand, and sand, and more sand. He pats his round belly, still not used to the feeling of being full instead of the regular ache of starvation. “I didn’t see any people either.” 

“That’s good.” AR seemed sure of this, which was odd because WV did not actually think it was good that he had never seen anyone. Then again, AR was more of an expert in this sort of thing than WV was. “People are dangerous. You can’t tell if they’re someone you can trust or someone you can’t until the last moment.” There was a pause, as if AR would add ‘except you’. But that was very unlike AR, who had not made a point out of apologizing for his mistake beyond the initial rather embarrassed one he’d given PM and WV. “And you might not have come here.” 

WV blinks. Oh. That’s true. If WV had met someone else in the desert, he may have followed them instead, or at least, his wandering wouldn’t have been so absent-minded. “I’m glad I didn’t then.” 

“Good.” AR gives a sharp nod, as if signaling that they are done with the topic. WV looks up at the top of the frog temple. He doesn’t glance over when AR boldly sets his hand on top of WV’s, but he doesn’t need to. He just squeezes his hand back, glad to have a friend again.


	35. Queen vs Pawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: WQ never gives crown to PM. Instead she killed, and takes care of Jack and his friends.

She finds the imposter in the land of Heat and Clockwork. Even at this distance, he can’t be mistaken for anything other than a thief. The prototypings are ill-fitting on his frame, looking more like a child playing dress-up in their parent’s clothes than an usurper. 

He’s scrapping with a Guardian. This would be laughable if it weren’t so pathetic. Even with third-stage prototyping, he’s struggling, barely managing to keep up with a Guardian. 

She flaps her wings, loud enough for them both to hear. Their swords stay pressed together, but their faces look up, spotting the white figure coming down to meet them. WQ holds the sword in her hand, staring the new Queen in the eyes. He simply sneers, too arrogant to see the danger before him. This pawn thinks he’s her equal. 

She’ll have to show him blow by blow the difference between a promoted pawn and a real Queen.


	36. Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked:  
> jack wanting fertilize her [the black queen's] succulent eggs

He thought about it more often than an Archagent should, even one as morally bankrupt and lazy as Jack. When he doodled on his work, when he reluctantly groveled for her high and mighty pain in the ass, when he bit his tongue to keep himself from demanding she get off his fucking desk, he thought about what he would do for five minutes alone with a batch of her eggs.

Her eggs. He’d seen them once, just once, as they were quickly transported from her chamber to the Battlefield for the King’s convenience. It was a memory he often pulled up when he was alone in bed, or occasionally in the bathroom at work. They had been long and tapered at each end. The skin had been transparent, dark shadows beneath the surface marking the double-yokes that would feed another generation of royal assholes. The box they were in had been locked tight, but he could still smell them, and he longed to break the lid off and do what was only natural, before they were shipped off to the King to wank over.

A Queen’s eggs were rare and magnificent. He knew she laid more regularly than any other monarch in their history. Sometimes he pictured her labouring with them, her servants gathered nearby and carefully collecting each other, sliding them into the warm, moist incubators waiting for them. Other times, he imagined kneeling above her, and the look on her face as Jack did the business of fathering her bastards, cutting out the King entirely.

Security is tight. The chances of him ever getting a chance to touch an egg, much less get down to the business of fertilizing them, is beyond slim. Even if he did, it wouldn't be long before they realized that the bastards were different this time around; smaller, faster, more inclined to stick a knife in your guts. Daydreaming about it was dangerous enough, doing anything was a one way ticket to a death sentence.

And yet…

And yet, he kept his ears open, a part of him always quietly hoping for a chance to mix revenge and pure pleasure. They’re bound to get sloppy with the eggs one of these days. And when they do, Jack will be there, waiting, eager to ‘assist’ the Queen, no matter how little she may want it.


	37. Eye for an Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derples asked:  
> Headcanon: AR has a busted/missing eye post exile. Write something about it please

The shadow cast by the frog temple saves him. When he comes to, it’s hours later, and his body is already too warm, mouth dry and desperate for something to drink. His face throbs with constant pain, and he lays there in the shadow for what feels like forever, a little feverish. The shadow keeps him from broiling alive in his shell while he slowly swims in and out of consciousness, finally coming to shortly before the sun begins to set. 

The body lying beside him is still warm from the desert heat, though the blood on his hands and throat have all crusted dry. The blood on AR has done the same. He slowly gets to his feet, staggering toward the temple. There’s water inside, deep down. He needs water badly. 

It’s hard to walk. He keeps misjudging the distance of things. His hand settles on the wall of the temple, holding tight to it as he makes his way down the stairs, feet constantly surprised by how close the steps really are. His one working eye is doing double duty, and it isn't doing it well. 

Still, he reaches the basement, and he drinks deep from the well deep within the temple, letting the liquid cool his body. As the ripples fade, he sees his face reflected at him. There’s white liquid dried on his one cheek, and an empty socket where a few hours ago a thumb had forced itself. The pain makes his memory fuzzy. He remembers spotting the carapacian and calling them near, offering to share his food and water with them. It was so lonely in the desert, having someone else around would be a relief. They had been so friendly, right up until the moment they tried to kill him. 

AR washes his face, careful not to containment his water. He has no painkillers to numb the throb, and no bandages to cover it. All he has is more of the yellow tape, and so he carefully winds that over his face, doing his best to cover it so sand doesn't get in. He has to go outside and bury that body before anyone else happens to come along. And he has to remove any traces of his presence until he’s healed enough to defend himself. 

The next time he spots someone, AR won’t be stupid enough to think they’re a friend. He can’t risk losing another eye in this wasteland. Friendship isn't worth that much.


	38. Best Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> AR trying his best to flirt with PM

AR has never had much luck with women. Even before he spent years in the desert slowly unlearning how to relate to people, he often struggled with trying to find the thin line between being too forward and not forward enough.

Now, for the first time in ages, there’s a woman in front of him, one of the attractive women he’s ever seen (Or can remember seeing. His memory has more holes in it than his shooting targets). And AR can barely remember what you even do in this situation.

He faintly remembers asking women to eat with you alone. But he can see just by looking at the other man that he’s in worse shape than her, and though he’s certain this isn’t how it goes, he gives them both enough food to eat until they can’t eat anymore. And he faintly remembers gifts, but the only thing he has worth giving are two well worn toys with magnets that still work after all this time, keeping the two creatures tangled together. AR isn’t certain she understands why he’s given them to her, but he hopes she does.

He tries to remember something else, anything else, but his memories all blur together and he finds himself uncertain if it’s appropriate to give her a weapon, or a kiss on the cheek, or if they’re both secretly an insult. As he struggles with this question, she sits on the rock beside him, the toys held in her hands.

“Thank you.” Her voice is hoarse. All of their voices are so hoarse. It’s not like any of them had anyone worth talking to, until now. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, suddenly assured that she knows his intentions. He would like to hold her hand right now, but a few hours ago, she held a sword to his neck and he settles for just resting a hand near her, close enough for her to touch him if she would like to, but not so close that she has to touch him.

Her hand settles beside his, not touching, but near enough for his tastes. AR smiles and glances at the fire, a warm glow in his heart.


	39. Alright Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whaoanon asked:  
> cOZ I DONT KNOW I just want to know how you think jack and brute would interact on derse....

They don’t talk all that much. If Jack needs somebody in a pinch, he’ll call the Brute, but he isn’t exactly inviting him out to drinks or dinner. Dignitary’s good for that sort of thing, and he’s got a spending allowance so Jack doesn’t have to swallow the whole cost. Brutes don’t get nearly as much, and if he wants to go somewhere nice, he’d have to cover his meal and HB’s, and HB eats a lot. 

But there are times now and again when he finds himself in the Brute’s company, usually while they wait for the others to do whatever it is they’re doing. And since they’re both a bit late, they tend to show up around the same time, coming in to an impatient Dignitary and confused Droll. 

It’s during one of these times when Dignitary gets snappish at them for wasting his time that Jack ends up glancing over at HB while they’re listening to DD whine, and finds that Brute looks just as bored as he does. He gives him a grin, and gets a surprised smile out of HB for his efforts. 

“Next time, I’ll lie about what time we’re meeting.” Dignitary says this like somehow that won’t just mean that he and Brute won’t just take twice as long to get there. 

“For fuck’s sake, let’s go!” Jack snaps back, finally getting DD to cram a sock in it so they can get on with their stuff. As he walks by the Brute, he bumps into him deliberately, and gets a bump back for his efforts. 

Yeah, they don’t talk all that much, but HB’s an alright guy.


	40. Necessary Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> WQ killing some derses by herself.

Sand is better at soaking up blood than Prospit or the Battlefield ever were. It would puddle in those places, waiting to be mopped or wiped away, or else it would slowly dry and leave a dark, thick crust. But it sinks into sand and leaves behind dark, wet patches that will soon be dried and blown away with the wind. 

She takes a strip of one of the bodies and cleans her hands, taking time to remove the blood trying desperately to cling to the cracks in her shell. This takes a long time, but she doesn’t mind; she would rather remove it now than smell it as it rots between her knuckles over the next weeks.

The bodies take quite some time to cool. The desert is like an oven during the day, and by the time she’s finished, they’re still warm from the sun. WQ carefully stands and sees to herself. Though the fight was violent, it was quick and she only bloodied her hands. The Dersites had been distracted, looking toward the crashed ship and talking among themselves as they debated if they should approach it and search for supplies. She had come up behind them, moving swiftly from one to the other, breaking necks and tearing out throats. 

She had briefly considered befriending them. They had not looked particularly dangerous. They were not armed and they had water, which she badly needed. But there was not enough water to share with strangers, and they were Dersites. Any element of surprise on her side would have been ruined the moment she announced her existence. 

Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered. She comforts herself with the knowledge that this world is temporary. There is a terminal beneath the sands waiting for her, and when she enters it, she will begin her journey to find the others of importance, and with any luck, her husband safe in his time capsule deep in the frog temple. A few Dersites dead now rather than later means nothing in the long term. She has more important factors to consider.

WQ stands, taking the group’s supplies and resuming her journey. The sand will cover the bodies soon enough.


	41. Ragged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ciborgmatchsticks-deactivated20 asked:  
> Draconian Dignitary and Parcel Mistress

This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. When Jack got the ring, he thought they’d take over Derse and rule it. Even DD hadn’t been prepared for what happened, or how fast everything got out of control. One minute, Jack was destroying Prospit, and the next they were in another universe, watching Jack lay waste to a planet full of complete strangers, just because he was bored. 

It’s hard to be the ruler of anything when you’re constantly destroying anything new the moment you’re bored, and Jack is so very. fucking. bored. 

For a while, it’s not so bad. He’s got CD to talk with, inane as his conversation is, and he’s got his pick of whatever he wants from the planets they come across, before Jack destroys them that is and kills any servants DD’s taken with them. But then…

But then Jack goes off the deep end. No, that’s not right. Jack was already off the deep end. The only thing was that Jack’s deep end wasn’t anywhere near DD, so he didn’t give a shit about what he did, or his Prospitian whore. But then Jack caught CD wearing his hat and…

Even then, it didn’t sink it, not until DD put a hand on PM to help her up and found himself without one. Before, that had been CD’s stupidity, the fucking idiot’s inability to listen getting him in too much trouble. But all he’d done was try to help Jack’s bitch up and suddenly all he had left was a stump, and his hand was twitching on the floor.

These days, he thinks about killing himself before Jack can. They’ve destroyed so many worlds, killed too many species for DD to even keep straight in his head. 

In another life, maybe PM would be an ally. Maybe they could have joined forces against Jack, worked together to get the ring off his fingers. But even as he thinks maybe, he knows there is no maybe. There is no world where they would trust each other over him. As soon as he has the ring on his hand, he’s going to kill her before she can kill him - because she will, the way she keeps attacking Jack makes that much clear. And if she gets the ring, he knows she’ll return the favor. At least she’ll give him a quick death. He’s already sure that Jack won’t even do that. 

He can hear Jack in the bedroom. She doesn’t scream anymore. It’s unnerving. DD smokes a cigarette and looks out at the world burning below them. His stump rests on the railing. 

This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.


	42. Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> could i request some fluffy oreoshipping? :O

Their house has a fireplace. That was one of the things they all agreed they wanted when they tried to plan what they would build. WV wanted a big garden in the back and giant kitchen with windows to let the sunlight in. AR wanted it to be secure with small windows and a watchtower and a safe room. PM wanted a front yard with a mailbox and a porch with a swing and front door with a peep-hole so you could always see who was on the other side. And a fireplace. They all wanted a fireplace. 

There were plenty of things they were happy to forget about the desert, but the fire was something worth remembering. They’d sealed the bonds of their friendship around a fire. The first time they kissed each other, it was by the light of burning furniture and shells. When they began to look for others, they started a great bonfire and let it burn for months, drawing in others from miles and miles around. The fire brought them life and love. 

They don’t light the fireplace every night, but whenever they’re all home at the same time, AR will go kindle a fire and WV will make something fresh for them to eat from the garden and PM lends a helping hand to whoever needs it at the moment. 

It’s not quite the same. They sit on carpet or in chairs instead of on rocks or sand. Their food is fresh instead of canned, lush greens and fresh steaks from AR’s wonderful machines. They wear fine clothes instead of dirty rags. But the company is the same and their laughter comes easier here than it did in the desert. The tears do too, and everyone understand if sometimes you just need to have a cry. Even good memories can make you sad. 

On those nights, they fall asleep around the fire, curling up together on the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows. There’s a bed upstairs they can share, but it’s good to hold each other like they used to, before there was comfort in their lives. The heat and flicking firelight lulls them to sleep and they sleep all night long, waking to sunlight and warm ashes. 

No life is perfect, but so long as they always have a fireplace, they’ll always be happy.


	43. Windy Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Do you think you can make a short, where WV and PM figure out their connection with the "John Human?" It was just an idea I had for a bit. Of you could do this thank you!

There is a bizarre moment when, for a few seconds, the windy boy appears above the campfire and looks around. He’s all in blue, just like he was when they met on the Battlefield, and he just hovers there in the air, unaware of the fire just beneath his feet. 

PM and AR are also surprised by the sudden guest, but while AR scrambles to grab a weapon, PM blinks and glances towards WV’s console. She was just over there and he’s not what she was doing, but all the good stuff is gone so she’s free to help herself to anything she’d like. “I know you.” She says.

"Whoops, I’m not supposed to be here." The boy says, giving a wave. "I know you! Hey! Remember me from the battlefield? Who are your friends?" 

And then like that, he’s gone, leaving behind nothing but a slight breeze. WV blinks and glances at PM. “You know him too?”

"He was on one of the screens in your can." She points back towards WV’s cylinder. "Did you see him there too?"

WV opens his mouth to tell her about the Battlefield, about the boy who was there, about the car and the ship and everything. And then his mouth goes dry, remembering that he’d have to tell her so much more - about the rebellion that failed, about the ring he’s keeping safe… 

"Yeah. I saw him there too." WV says and gives her a slightly forced grin. PM clearly notices, but she lets it go. He looks a little more at the fire. Maybe he’ll go look at the console and see if he’s still there too. Maybe he can find out what the windy boy is doing now. Hopefully he’s okay and not disappointed that things didn’t go the way they wanted them to.


End file.
